


invisible ties that bind us

by gracedbybattle



Series: unimaginable light [3]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bacta Tank, Established Relationship, F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Major Character Injury, Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:46:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23827060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracedbybattle/pseuds/gracedbybattle
Summary: Kanan is hurt and Ezra is too, though not in a way that Hera understands.
Relationships: Depa Billaba & Kanan Jarrus, Ezra Bridger & Hera Syndulla, Ezra Bridger & Kanan Jarrus, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Series: unimaginable light [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699963
Comments: 8
Kudos: 86





	invisible ties that bind us

Of all the places within the Jedi Temple, this is by far her least favorite.

The medcenter is one of the finer in this sector of the galaxy, the newest equipment with a specialization in Force sensitives. She knows, intellectually, that this is the best place they could be right now, given the circumstances.

But she still hates it.

“We anticipate he’ll only need a new rotations, at the most,” Bant Eerin says. She’s trying to be reassuring, Hera knows, but she doesn't feel settled by the time frame. The blue of the bacta tank in front of her shines against the Mon Cal’s face, illuminating it in the familiar, dreaded blue. 

Kanan floats suspended in the tank, a mask on his face and clad in only a pair of medshorts. It leaves too much skin exposed, allows her to see the beating he took on the mission that went to hell. The blaster wound is the most ghastly, a blistering mess of black skin on his shoulder. A few inches over, and it would have been his heart. It chills her to the bone. 

The rest of his body is a mess of bruising where the building came down on top of him. The internal bleeding was their first and most immediate concern, though Bant assures her they took care of that with the initial surgery. The bacta tank should heal the rest. A concussion, a fractured ankle and a laceration to the thigh round out the most pressing injuries that she can remember being told of, though she’s sure there are more. 

You don’t have a building fall on you and get out unscathed, not even a Jedi. 

They knew from the jump that this was a tricky situation, a fairly fraught diplomatic situation on Onderon. A local gang has been steadily building to a confrontation since the conclusion of the Clone Wars, and it finally boiled over into armed conflict. Their leader requested help from the Council over a week ago, Kanan had been dispatched with Master Fisto and Knight Secura almost immediately. 

The mission, from what she has gathered, dissolved into chaos after multiple failed negotiations between the Onderon’s leader and the Black Sun, when the gang attempted an assassination and bombed the night’s royal dinner. A number of the planets citizens had been inside, and the Jedi, already in attendance, had handled the evacuation personally.

Kanan and Fisto had held the building from crumpling on them while the others were evacuated, before the terrorists had returned to finish what they started. The majority of the evacuation complete, they’re fired on the Jedi themselves. Fisto, positioned at the front of the hall, had managed to escape with his tunics singed. Kanan had been deeper within the building and wasn’t so lucky. The shot to the shoulder shattered his concentration and brought the pieces of the structure he’d been holding aloft down onto him. 

Aayla had dug him out of rubble herself. 

In hindsight, the mission was a success. The attack gave the Senate the leverage needed to get involved. They deployed the Republic Army to Onderon and put down the Black Sun resurgence almost immediately. 

The worst of the whole engagement was Kanan. 

“Hera?” 

She blinks, the sides of her vision gone watery as she stares at him in the tank. She wipes at the edges of her eyes quickly. 

“I’m okay,” she responds, breaking her gaze to look at Bant. The Mon Cal is one of the kindest beings she knows and she’s never felt more grateful for her compassionate nature. After Healer Che had briefed her on Kanan’s condition, Bant had stuck around to monitor the tank. First immersion, she said, could be tricky and they wanted to keep a close eye on Kanan’s vitals while he adjusted.

Hera imagines she also wanted to keep an eye on her, but she’s too grateful for the company to say so. 

“I’m alright,” she repeats, wrapping an arm around herself and blowing a huff of air through her mouth. “It was a shock, at first, but I think I’m okay now.”

She turns back and runs a hand along the tank, marveling at the coolness of the transparisteel. “Just a few cycles they think?”

“Yes,” Bant confirmed, nodding at her side. Her gaze is still lingering on the nearby monitors, watching the numbers tally. “Though he does have a habit of coming out early. We’ll monitor him closely, make sure he’s not fighting it.” 

Hera nods, she knows as much. She’s only seen Kanan in a tank once before, though she’s heard stories of other instances. It wasn’t this bad the last time, they’d stuck him in for a few hours and he’d protested even that. 

He hates bacta tanks. 

She nods, straightens her back. “Thanks. Let me know if anything changes,” and leaves with one last look at her husband before she can lose her composure. 

Master Windu is waiting for her in the receiving area, sitting pensive and thoughtful with Ezra in his lap. Thankfully, the baby is asleep. They were already deep in the night cycle when the transport arrived and they took Kanan back for the surgery. It’s now much later and she can feel the late hour in the building pressure behind her eyes. She desperately wants to sleep, but the thought of her empty bed is almost overwhelming. 

“Hera,” Mace greets as he sees her. His eyes and tone ask more than words can. 

“He’s okay,” she says. “They’re going to keep him in the tank for a few rotations. But they think he should be okay.”

Mace frowns. “He’s not fond of being submerged.”

“I know.”

He sighs. “I’ll brief the Council in the morning. His were the only significant injuries we sustained.”

Hera nods but doesn’t respond. She wants to put the whole ugly mess behind them. She wants to go home and have Kanan there, bustling around the stove cooking dinner with Ezra at his ankles. She wants him to be home, unhurt and undamaged. She doesn’t want to leave him here alone, trapped in a place that he hates. 

“You should go home,” Mace interrupts her thoughts, like he can read her mind. “Get some rest. There’s nothing more we can do tonight.” 

“Yeah,” she agrees. “I think we should.”

“I have a shuttle. I’ll take you home,” he offers, which confuses her until her brain reboots and she remembers that she was here already when the call came in, in with Bant for another one of Ezra’s routine exams. She doesn’t have a way to get back. 

“Thank you Master Windu,” she says out of reflex, falling back into formality and reaching forward. 

“It’s Mace,” he corrects with a tone that almost sounds gentle, stepping forward and transferring Ezra into her arms. He stirs but doesn’t wake, shifting into her chest to burrow a bit deeper into her arms. She hugs him to her chest, relishing in the warmth and solid feel of him like it can heal the worry in her heart. She lets Mace lead them out of the center. 

They make the trip quickly, the traffic at a crawl of its usual chaos given the hour. He drops them at the door and lays a hand on her shoulder, heavy and kind. “Com me if you need anything,” he says. “I’ll let you know how it’s going in the morning.”

The tears she’s been holding out all night sting the backs of her eyes at his soft tone, concerned and caring. Mace isn’t an unkind man, but he’s typically stern and he certainly doesn’t coddle people. This is a kindness that he extends to those he considers friends and close family. 

“Thank you.”

“No need,” he replies and smiles at her. Even rarer. “Take care of the little one. I’ll let Depa know. You get some rest.”

She nods, not trusting herself to say anything. Just presses her baby to her chest and goes inside. 

\--

It’s a miserable night. 

If she could sleep, which she doubts, she wouldn’t be able to. Ezra wakes when she’s changing him into his sleep clothes and he screams the rest of the night. He isn’t hungry, wet or hurt, from what she can tell. Just upset. He screams and screams and screams. He takes half a bottle before he rejects it and squalls some more. It’s out of the ordinary and frays her nerves fiercely. 

Around the time the sun starts to rise against the sky, he finally drops off from pure exhaustion. She sets him into his small cradle in the common area, afraid to disturb him by moving back to the bedroom. It isn’t a restful sleep. He twitches and turns and occasionally startles awake to wail a few more seconds before falling back asleep again. 

Defeated, Hera collapses on the coach. She’s gone hoarse trying to settle him, singing and talking and rocking back and forth all night. She clicks her com on to a message from Mace. 

_ Still the same. Will update with any news.  _

Comforted by the idea that Kanan hasn’t taken a turn for the worse, she tucks a blanket around herself, instructs Chopper to wake her if she’s needed and melts into sleep. 

\--

The next two rotations are a blur. Sato is kind enough to grant her immediate leave, though she insists on retaining as much administrative work as possible. No point in sitting around with nothing to do. 

Depa returns after the second rotation and comes straight to their apartment after stopping by the medcenter. Hera opens to the door to her kind, familiar face and nearly collapses right then and there. They sit on the balcony to watch the sun rise and drink tea while Ezra naps in his room, exhausted after another nearly sleepless night. 

“And he’s been like this, the whole time?” Depa asks, eyes a little too knowing. 

“Yes,” Hera sighs, cradling the mug in her hands. “I can’t figure it out. I thought it was Kanan being gone, but Kanan’s been gone on outposts before and he’s never had this reaction.”

“Hmm.” Depa hums over the rim of her mug, eyes thoughtful. There’s a look there, one that says she’s thinking of something deeper and Hera wants to ask, but she doesn’t have the energy. They sit in silence for a while and it’s nice. It’s nice to be around another person that doesn’t want anything from her. Not a report, not a briefing, not even a question. Just to sit companionably. She misses Kanan.

Right on cue, Ezra’s cries start up from his room and she hangs her head in defeat. Depa chuckles a little and sets her tea down. “Stay,” she says, getting up and straightening her tunic. She smiles at Hera, the edges of her mouth soft and kind. “I’ll take care of him.”

She wants to protest, to say it’s not necessary, to shoulder in there and take care of her son herself. To forge on like she always does. But she is so, so comfortable and the blanket around her is soft. The tea is warm in her hands and she knows it’ll cool if she goes to get Ezra. So she swallows her pride and says, “That would be great, thank you,” and she means it. 

Hera leans bad into her chair and sinks into the cushions, holding her tea to her chest to soak up the warmth and just listens. Listens to the footsteps receding away, imagines the distinctive  _ swoosh  _ of the door to the bedroom sliding open. Ezra’s cries are louder for a second, and then goes quieter as the door closes. 

The sound of her baby upset is a siren song. It calls to her, beckoning her to come and help, to try and make it better. As though a line is drawn between them and any time he so much as whimpers she’d do anything to make him better. The sound of him distraught, sobbing for nights on end with no relief? It’s no wonder she can’t sleep. His pain is her pain. She never understood that, couldn’t articulate it before. But she can now. Even now, with someone else to take him, she’s resisting the urge to leap from the couch and take him into her own arms. 

She can hear Depa through the transmitter in her lap, though she can’t make out all the words. Her voice is soft, motherly. She can imagine what it looks like. Ezra, with his fists balled up and shaking in the air, mouth wide open and eyes wet. He’ll be trashing, just a little, out of his blanket like he wants to come out his clothes too. 

Depa will lean over, scoop him into her arms and rest him against her shoulder. She’ll bring her other arm up to keep him snug because he’ll still be trying to twist around. He might even cry a little louder because Depa is not Hera, is not Kanan, and even though he knows her, she’s not the same. 

But to Hera’s surprise, the cries don’t escalate. They rise for a moment, startled by being uprooted from his bed, but they start to recede. Slowly, like a crescendo in reverse. 

Depa walks out to join them on the balcony, Ezra in her arms. He’s more peaceful than he’s been since Kanan was admitted. “He’s okay,” Depa assures her, resting her head against Ezra, not pausing once in the swaying that he likes. She inclines a head at Hera, knowingly.

“You do what you need to do, don’t worry about him for a touch.”

“You are a blessing,” Hera says. “I’m just going to hope in the refresher,” she adds, ducking inside for a respite. 

She lets herself marinate in the ‘fresher, the water washing over her and breathing new life into her exhausted mind. Between the worry for Kanan and Ezra coupled with the stress of everything else, she feels like she just needs a moment to breathe. 

She just stepped in the bedroom, rummaging for fresh clothes when Depa knocks on the outside, sliding inside without any warning. She has Ezra in a new set of clothes looking a bit more awake and Hera starts to thank her but the other women’s eyes are anxious. Her mouth goes dry. 

“He’s waking up,” Depa says with no preamble, a bag already slung over her shoulder with Ezra’s things, because she knows this family well. “Kanan. He’s waking up early.”

\--

By the time they reach the Temple, Bant is there to greet them at the medcenter entrance. “We commed as soon as he started showing signs of coming around,” she says without any introduction. “He started fighting the tank pretty quickly after that. It’s a good thing we were ready for it. He still took in little into his lungs, but we pumped the majority of it out. We’ll just need to monitor for any complications.”

“And the other injuries?” Hera asks, following her back, Depa with Ezra on her heels. She can still see the way he looked after surgery, body black and blue from the blunt force trauma. 

“Not entirely healed,” Bant taps against the scanner for the back area, swiping a card as it beeps a florescent green. “There’s still a little bruising along the side and the leg injury will probably scar. But he’s out of any immediate danger.”

“Any respiratory risk?” Depa asks. 

Bant shrugs, noncommittal. “We can’t say. We just have to wait and see.” She gives them both a small smile, attempting to break some of tension. “He’s a terror in the tank when he wants to be.”

“Believe we, we are aware,” Depa responds, patting Ezra against her shoulder. The baby is beginning to truly wake, distributed by the unfamiliar setting. The whole place is full of weird smells, sharp to Hera’s nose and she can imagine how it must be assaulting Ezra’s senses. If he wakes up angry and starts up again like he did last night, they’re going to wake the whole place. 

“I can take him,” she says before they go deeper into the center. Not disturbing the patients back here is the least they can do. The need to see Kanan is desperate. It’s a feeling deep under her breastbone, a painful vice that feels like it's squeezing heart. 

But Kanan isn’t the only one who needs her right now. 

Ezra is twisting in Depa’s hold, his eyes squeezing shut against the bright lights and starting to protest in earnest. Hera starts to reach for him, to turn back and go bounce him back to sleep in the waiting area. She’s his mother, her duty is to him first. No matter how badly she wants to go to her husband. 

“Hera.”

Depa is watching her, her brown eyes gentle. She places a hand against Ezra’s forehead, ignoring his fussing, and just breathes deeply. The baby doesn’t quiet entirely but he does relax. Something changes in the air around them, something tangible and different. Hera isn’t Force sensitive, but even she feels the difference in the energy. 

“I’ve got him,” Depa says. “I can handle this. Go see Kanan.” 

“Do you know what’s bothering him?” she blurts out before she can stop herself.

Depa nods. “I think so.” She inclines her head to the door where Bant is waiting. “I’ve got this under control. Go see our boy. We’ll wait for you. Give him my love.” Hera nods, wishing she could infuse the relief and gratitude she feels in the motion. She can’t thank the galaxy enough for the likes of Depa Billaba. 

Hera lost her mother young. She remembers her in fleeting images of her childhood, technicolor images too blurred and bright to seem real. Her father was loving but stern. She never doubted his love and devotion to her, but he’s not the warm and fuzzy type. It’s just not his style. 

Depa Billaba is all the things she imagined a mother figure would be. She’s a pillar in their little family. 

Bant weaves a line to the back of the medcenter, the quietest area where the bacta tanks sit. They pass through the main chamber and she can’t help staring at the tanks. The one closest is the one Kanan was in. An attendant is sanitizing it now, cleaning to be ready for the next occupant. She follows the Mon Cal to one of the patient alcoves off the main floor and steps inside.

Kanan is lying on his back on a medbed. His hair is pulled back from his face in a messy bun, still wet from the bath they must’ve given him after pulling from the tank. He’s dressed in a flimsy med-gown, open at the collar enough to show off his still-healing yellow bruises. 

There a plethora of stickers and wires stuck to his body feeding readings to nearby machines. They’re just monitoring for complications, but the amount of them feels so sinister. His skin is drawn and pale, a few shades off of it’s regular tan, though she’s grateful that at least his cheeks aren’t flush with fever. 

His eyes are closed, darting beneath his lids and his breath is uneven. His right hand, the one closest to her twitches. His brow is knitted together, furrowed in what Hera knows to be a common symptom of a nightmare. 

There’s a chair beside his bed that she sinks into, grasping the hand closest to her. Her other hand moves up to his forehead, gently brushing aside a few strands of dark brown hair that escaped his tie. He stills under her touch but doesn’t wake. 

“We’re going to up his sedation, as soon as we get a baseline established on these vitals,” Bant says and she nearly forgot the Mon Cal was even in the room. The healer is patiently studying the machines next to the bed, golden eyes tracking numbers while she makes notations on a pad. “And we didn’t want to put him under without seeing someone first,” she says pointedly. She makes a few more notes and then closes the pad off. “I’ll get Healer Che. She can explain all the details. See if you can bring him around for a bit.” 

Hera nods, watching the Mon Cal leave before turning her attention back to her husband. She grasps his larger hand in her own, smoothing the skin on his brow that refuses to unwrinkle. 

“Kanan,” she says softly. “It’s Hera. You can wake up now.”

His eyes dance under his lids but they remain closed. She squeezes his hand encouragingly, feeling the slightest flex against her palm. 

“C’mon love,” she coaxes, running a finger up the ridge of his nose. A few rotations in bacta mean that his beard has come in full, lines of hair racing up his jawbone and she traces the outline of them. The hair is coarser than the hair on his head, a fascinating difference that still confuses her. She doesn’t think she’ll ever understand human hair. 

Her husband groans, a deep noise that encourages her to squeeze his hand again. “That’s it,” she says. “That’s it.”

He blinks once, twice, blue-green eyes peeking through his eyelids before he glances blearily around the room and focuses back on her. He looks confused for a moment, like he doesn’t know where he is. 

“Hera?” he croaks in a broken, gravel filled voice, even deeper than usual. “What’s-” he stops to cough and tears form at the corner of his eyes from the effort of expelling from his chest. “Whe-where are we?”

“On Coruscant,” she says, tracking his face to make sure he understands. “The medcenter at the Temple.”

“How’d end up here?” Kanan asks, studying the line extending from his wrist. He’s not quite awake enough. She smiles at him reassuringly. 

“Well,” she reaches for a ice chip with one hand while keeping the other clasped with him. “Funny thing happened on Onderon. Someone dropped a building on you, which is a little hard to just walk away from.”

“A building?” he asks in clear confusion, leaning forward to take the chip from her. His coughing abates and she supports his neck as he lays back again. 

“Some terrorists put a hole in your shoulder too.” He turns his head to look. 

“It’s fine now,” she assures him. “Bacta tank took care of it.”

Kanan groans, shifting in her grip. “‘Should've known.”

She laughs. His familiar gripe with bacta is comforting, to know his head is still intact. You never know with a concussion.

“You’re in one piece,” she assures him. “Everyone else made it out okay. You took the worst of it.” She strokes a hand through his hair, so grateful to have him awake and talking that she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Kanan lays quietly for a moment just watching her. He must be exhausted. 

Suddenly, his eyes widen and he looks at her alarmed, like he just remembered something. “Hera,” he says quickly like he can’t get the words out fast enough. “Where’s Ezra?”

“He’s fine, he’s with Master Billaba, they’re right outside,” she soothes, scratching against his scalp the way she knows he likes. He relaxes against her touch but still looks worried. 

“He’s okay?”

“He’s fine,” she reassures him. A thought is being to bud in her mind, one she’s not sure she needs to give voice to just yet. She doesn’t know a lot about the Force bond between Kanan and Ezra. But maybe, maybe it has something to do with the tear that their son has been on while his father has been out of commission.

“That’s, that’s good,” Kanan says with clear relief in his voice, tension bleeding out of him like a sieve. “I thought, I saw…” he trails off, like he’s going to fall back asleep.

“Kanan? Wake up,” she taps against his cheek, steering clear of his prickly scruff. “Healer Che wants you awake to do an assessment. She should be here soon. Then you can rest.”

He cracks his eyes open but doesn’t move, only complying so she’ll quit poking his face. His chest exhales with a full body sigh, which dissolves into another cough, stronger than the first. She winces at the force of his hacking. 

“Did they get my lung too?” he gasps once he stops expelling. He spits a wad into a napkin in her hand and grimaces. 

“You took in some bacta before they could pull you out,” she explains, balling the cloth together and setting it aside. She’ll show it to the healer when he comes. “You came out early again.”

He coughs again, smaller and curls his hand around hers, squeezing. “I feel awful.”

“I know,” she says, an ache in her chest at the admission. Kanan doesn’t admit to pain often. “You can rest after they finish. I promise.”

Her husband sighs and she raises a hand to cup against his cheek. He turns immediately, letting his head go lax in her grip. Her thumb grazes against his cheek, back and forth.

“Well, Kanan, I see you still don’t do things halfway,” Vokara Che sweeps into the room with a pad, staring at her patient knowingly. “Are you ever going to sit through an entire bacta treatment?”

“Some things never change,” Kanan agrees, coughing fitfully. 

After they detail the majority of Kanan’s outlook, Che leaves them with strict instructions to rest and Hera requests to fetch Depa and Ezra before they let him slip back asleep. He needs the rest, she can see that with her own eyes, but something is pinging in the back of her mind. 

Ezra’s sleepless nights and Kanan’s absence are starting to line up. The only times her baby hasn’t been screaming his head off since Kanan was admitted was with Mace and Depa.  _ Huh _ . She doesn’t know if seeing him physically will help, but she’s willing to try. 

“I’ll fetch them,” Bant promises when she raises the idea. “Be right back.”

There must be some kind of connection between Ezra and Kanan that she’s missing. Their Force connection is natural and strong, Depa explained as much when he was born. 

And then, it hits her like being blindsided by a speeder. 

Not long ago, Kanan took a hit in a ‘saber training practice. Ezra had been obsessed with his wounded arm, constantly prodding the bandage like it was something to be worried about. Like he knew that something was wrong.  _ Maybe… _

She’s distracted by her thoughts by Depa and Ezra’s entrance. Her baby is quietly scanning the room, amazingly quiet. She holds a breath and hopes he doesn’t start squalling. 

Depa wastes no time, taking up the other chair at Kanan’s bed after dropping Ezra in his mother’s arms. She sets a hand on his arm and closes her eyes, slipping into the Force. Kanan’s eyes crack open in response. 

“Master?” he whispers, eyes tracking over her face. 

“Yes,” she says with that soft smile that Hera knows she only gives to those she considers family. Kanan shifts on the bed, but his eyes are glued to hers. “It’s me. You gave us quite a scare.”

The older Jedi brings a hand out to his forehead, places it against the skin and breathes deep. Kanan eyes close as well and he breathes with her, matching the in and out with a rhythm. They sit in silence for a moment while Hera watches with Ezra in her arms. 

Ezra breaks the moment by fussing loudly, reaching with his little arms for his father. 

Kanan’s eyes snap open and dart to them, like he forgot Hera was even in the room. 

“Ezra?” Their son just fusses louder, almost tapering off into a real cry. Kanan reaches up to him and Hera raises an eyebrow.

“Kanan, I don’t know-” 

“It’s okay, he interupts her, meeting her eyes with a knowing look. The sight and sound of their distressed baby has temporarily shook the sleep and confusion from his eyes. He looks focused and calm, in charge of himself again. 

Hera still hesitates, but Depa nods at her across the bed, so she sets the baby against Kanan, settling him to his chest. Ezra immediately latches onto the thin med-gown, fisting his little hand into the fabric and clinging to his father. Kanan brings both arms around him, holding him secure. Ezra’s tiny chest exhales in a loud watery breath, like he’s finally calming down. Kanan brings one hand up to cup his head, rubbing against his hair soothingly. 

“S’okay buddy,” Kanan says so softly that Hera can barely make out the words, little more than a whisper. “We’re okay, we’re okay.” He trails off, breath deeping into sleep and Ezra following suit. They both drop off to sleep quickly, clearly exhausted. Hera just watches them, the whole pieces of her heart lying together on a medbed and aches. 

“I thought it might help,” Depa says after a while, from her place on the opposite side. Her hand hasn’t moved from her old padawan’s arm. “To have them together.”

“Is this something to do with the Force? With the bond?” It’s what she’s been thinking all along. Her mind is flashing back through the last couple of days, Mace with Ezra asleep on their way back to the apartment, the way he woke and trashed after the older Jedi left, the way he’s screamed ever since until Depa arrived, and the instivitive way he’d burrowed into Kanan and promptly dropped off. 

Common denominator? Jedi. 

Her husband’s mentor nods sagely. “Yes. Kanan’s shielding has been weak. He typically has nightmares in the tank. I think they were leaking through to Ezra. Projected.” She explains with a voice calmer than Hera feels. “I could feel them, just glimpses. It was very prominent when he was a boy. Less so now, but very easy to pick up on for an infant.” “Oh,” Hera blinks. The scope of the Force never seems to surprise her. “What can we do about it?”

Depa sighs. “A few things. Ezra is too young to properly build shields in his own mind. When he’s older, he’ll be taught how. But it shouldn’t be a problem unless Kanan cannot construct shields of his own. It’s instinctive.”

“And what about now?” Hera asks, tracking the hellscape of the last few days. Ezra hasn’t just been upset, he’s been distraught. He was feeling Kanan’s thoughts, she realizes with a pang, staring at her sleeping baby and husband with something hurt in her heart.  _ My poor boys.  _

“I was able to comfort his mind, project a shield onto it, if you will. Like a net to catch the thoughts and filter them myself.”

“Is that what Mace did, when Kanan was admitted? He didn’t yell that night until he left.”

Depa considers this. “Probably. Though I doubt it was intentional. It’s natural to project calm and comfort to younglings. They are so open in the Force and vulnerable. It’s an natural instinct.” She meets Hera’s eyes and it’s a look open with understanding. Like they can both relate to seeing the ones they care about touched by pain. 

“It’ll be something to keep in mind, in the future.” She smooths a hand against Kanan’s brow and places a chaste kiss against his hair. “A lesson to be learned.” She rises from her chair and tugs at her tunic sleeves. “I think these two will be alright for a bit. I have a meeting with the Council. I’ll update them on his condition in person. As well as our new development. Maybe they have some other ideas.”

She turns around the side of the medbed to place a hand on Hera’s shoulder and spares one last look at Kanan and Ezra sleeping. Their Force signatures, so intertwined, are no longer tumultuous and rolling like a violent sea. They are content, wrapped around one another and feeding a feeling of peace. Satisfied, she draws back. 

“Thank you,” Hera says and she can’t even pick out where to start so she just repeats herself. “Thank you, for everything. I don’t know what we would do without you, some days.”

Depa smiles at her, that soft look that reminds Hera of her own mother. “We are family. We look after our own.” She stops before leaving, glances over her shoulder. “Is there anything you need? I’ll be back later to see how they’re doing.”

Hera stares at her sleeping family, her whole world curled up on the bed together. Kanan’s chest, rising Ezra up and down like a lift, a soft snore building in his throat. Their baby is relaxed in sleep, little mouth falling open and his cheek pressed to his father’s chest, like he’s listening to his heartbeat as a lullaby. 

“No,” she says, feeling like the world has finally been righted again. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”


End file.
